Lyriana's eyes widened, her heart pounding.
What the hell his _ fast! I didn't even see him when he got so close . But the Young Master… he managed to block in time.
She turned toward Draven, who now stood facing his father with a fierce glare.
Draven's mind raced.
I need to get the hell out of here, right now. If I don't, this old man's gonna beat the crap out of me.
He shot a glance toward the exit.
He's standing right next to the door… Damn it. Isn't there another way out?
His head turned as he scanned the room.
One door. No windows. How the hell did I ever not notice that before?
Then his eyes landed on the far wall.
Should I just break through it? I probably could. Maybe… if I—
But before the thought could finish, his father was already there.
His father appeared in front of him like a shadow splitting through space, fist drawn back mid-swing.
"Brat, what the hell are you looking around for?" He growled, slamming his fist into Draven's stomach with terrifying force.
The impact was catastrophic.
Bone cracked. His spine snapped. Ribs shattered like glass. Internal organs compressed under the sheer power of the blow. Draven's eyes bulged, mouth gaping as a deep growl company with saliva of agony rumbled from his throat.
He was launched across the room, his body smashing into the wall hard enough to crater the stone. His limbs hung loosely, embedded in the cracked surface like a broken doll.
Blood leaked from his mouth as he coughed, pain radiating through every nerve.
What the hell is this wall made of? he thought bitterly. I didn't even break through. Can't escape… even if I wanted to.
A shaky laugh escaped his bloodied lips.
"God damn it, old man…" he muttered, voice hoarse.
With a surge of strength, Draven pulled himself free and dropped to the floor with a soft thud.
He turned to the side, spat blood, then wiped his mouth with the back of his left hand. A crooked smile stretched across his bruised face. His glowing red eyes burned with fire.
"If you wanna play so badly old man… then let's play."
In a flash, Draven vanished—only to reappear beside his father, right hand flying forward in a blurring punch.
But his father was ready.
He raised his left hand and caught Draven's fist without even flinching.
"Brat," he said with a smirk, "looks like you're finally ready to play with your old man."
Then the King's right hand lashed out, crashing into Draven's face with a thunderous crack that snapped his head back.
But Draven didn't fall. grabbing his father's punching hand just as the blow landed. A sharp smile flickered across his lips, his glowing red eyes locked on his father holding his left leg firmly,
From the outside, it looked chaotic. But there was precision in his madness.
When his father's punch struck, Draven seized the hand instantly and retaliated with a swift kick. But his father blocked it effortlessly, still smiling, holding Draven's leg firmly.
"Brat, you—" his father began, but Draven cut him off. Using the captured hand for support, shifted his weight and In one swift motion swung his other leg in a sudden, powerful arc.
His father just moved his hand silly and the kick landed squarely on his elbow with a sickening crack — the bones in his foot shattering under the impact.
Reacting quickly, Draven released his father's hand. With his other leg, he pushed off, flipping through the air before landing gracefully on his feet — already healed,